


Locks of Love to Give

by LadyPuck



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, F/M, Hair Stylist AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-16 16:38:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyPuck/pseuds/LadyPuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Castiel owns a hair studio. Sam is his favorite customer, rocking a veritable mane of gorgeous locks and full of stories about his engineer brother Dean.</p><p> </p><p>Dedicated to Concentrated Ridiculousness, because it's her birthday and she loooveess AUs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
Oops. I DIDN’T MEAN TO… but i wrote a thing. Inspired by this real shop I passed by in London.

 

**Locks of Love to Give**

Cas surveyed the battleground with a stoic gaze. From the left? No, the right.

Gripping his sharp blade, he moved decisively, sparing no mercy and ignoring the carnage dripping to the floor.

_Snip. Snip. Snip._

A quick brush down and final trimming and the victory was his. Nodding silently he turned the blonde around to face the mirror.

“Oh my God, that’s amazing!” The woman in the chair blinked at her reflection, cropped hair perfectly framing her face. “How—I swear, it looked like hell!”

Castiel cocked his head to the side, observing his work critically.

“Next time, I would recommend avoiding Ruby’s. They have a rather…aggressive style.”

The bell above the door chimed and a giant of a man walked in, the late afternoon sun throwing golden highlights through a long mane of brown hair.

The woman in the chair sighed. “You’re an angel Cas, but not even a miracle could make anyone’s hair as ridiculously gorgeous as that damn man’s.” Privately, Cas agreed.The man in question smiled, coming to the woman’s side.

“Now Jess…”

“Don’t ‘Now Jess’ me mister.” Rising up from the chair but still only coming up to the man’s shoulder, Jess whapped him in the chest before giving him a kiss. “You know the only way to get hair like yours is to make a bargain with the devil.” Turning back to Cas, she smiled. “Though Cas comes close. I suppose I should thank Sam for revealing his secret weapon in the fight for perfect hair.”

Cas gave her a tiny, pleased grin as Sam tugged his fiancé close.

“Oh, before I forget, Cas, my brother’s coming into town tomorrow and I’m pretty sure he needs a trim. Got any space in your schedule?” Cas’s heart tripped for a moment—this was…unexpected.

Sam had been his favorite customer for over a year now, ever since the young lawyer had moved into town, in part because his hair was frankly a joy to work with but mostly because of the funny, bawdy, and often-heartwarming stories he told about his older brother, Dean.

Cas, idiot that he was, had managed to develop a rather alarmingly strong crush on a man that he had never actually met. And now he was coming here?

Stammering, he tried to decide if he wanted to meet his crush in person, managing to babble out, “I don’t know, I need to check—I’m fairly certain Gabe is in?”

Sam made a face, shaking his head. “No, Dean’s not quite rebellious enough when it comes to style to really…appreciate…Gabe’s…art.” He turned his soft brown eyes to Cas. “Please Cas? I know you’d do a great job and I think you’d really like him.”

That, Cas reflected, wasn’t really the problem. No, it was more the fact that he wasn’t really a people person—social niceties tended to escape him like Houdini in a chained box—and it was worse when he was under the grip of infatuation. If he was lucky, he’d end up silently giving Dean the best haircut of his life. If he wasn’t lucky (and honestly, he generally wasn’t), he’d end up stuttering like a drunkard while giving Dean the best haircut of his life and the impression that his hair-stylist was a mad idiot who probably shouldn’t be near anyone’s head with a pair of scissors.

Shaking his head, he prepared to inform Sam that Anna would be in as well tomorrow and less likely to let Dean leave with a green mohawk, but as he caught Sam’s gaze, he felt trapped by the gentle appeal of a pair of doe-like eyes. The next thing he knew, the words “12 o’clock?” were escaping his lips. As he silently began to panic, mechanically waving at the happy couple leaving his shop, Cas found himself caught looping a desperate prayer: ‘Don’t let him be aesthetically pleasing. Or charming. Or witty. Oh Chri—’

* * *

As they left Castiel’s, Jess looked at Sam in frank appreciation and a slight amount of trepidation. “That was impressive and kind of scary Sam. Should I get your eyes registered as weapons of mass-persuasion before we get married?"

Grinning, Sam shook his perfectly mussed waves of brown hair. “Don’t worry, I only use them for the forces of good.” With a bit more gravity, he turned to her as they walked towards his car.

“I really think they’ll hit it off. Cas is a good guy and deserves someone special. And ever since Dad died, hell, ever since Mom died, Dean’s needed something, someone, in his life that will force him to think of himself once in a while and be happy.” His ‘infamous’ eyes now shadowed with sadness, he continued quietly. “You saw him at Christmas. He’s just, existing. He needs a jolt to his system and I have a good feeling about him and Cas.”

Jess suddenly laughed, startling him into looking at her. “What?”

With an unholy gleam in her eyes, his fiancé grinned at him. “ I have a ‘good feeling too.’ They’re going to make a really, really hot couple. Think they’ll let me watch? I bet they’ll—” Sam yelped, covering his ears.

“Christ, Jess, that’s my brother you’re fantasizing about!”

Chuckling, she stole his car keys from his pocket and raced to their parking spot, calling out, “Dean and Cas, sitting in a tree!”

Chasing her, and laughing himself, Sam yelled back, “C’mon it’s my brother!”

Catching up to her and tickling her into submission, he finished with a wicked grin.

“And since it’s my brother, you should know it’s totally ‘Dean and Cas, making out in the Impala!”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Dean rubbed a broad hand through his slightly overlong hair, looking warily at his giant of a little brother.

“I don’t know Sammy, Dad’s barber was always good enough for me.”

“You mean the guy that’s made you look like a junior Marine for most of your life.”

“Never got any complaints!”

Sam turned large, brown eyes to his brother, who was shifting uneasily as they stood in front of Castiel’s.

Noticing his brother’s intent gaze, Dean groaned and literally turned around to block the sight.

“Jesus, Sammy, Jess know about those eyes? Fine! I’ll get a damn haircut, just put those away.”

Smirking in triumph, the younger brother went to open the door. But before he could get to it, he paused, looking at Dean.

His brother, his brilliant, crass, confident, engineer brother, who had basically raised him and was firmly established as his hero from day one, looked…almost scared.

Of a hair stylist’s shop.

“Dean?” “Yeah Sammy?”

Hesitating, Sam pulled him away from the door to the curb, pushing him down before sitting next to him, ignoring the confused protests.

“What the hell?”

“Dean, why are you so freaked out?” Silence.

“I’m not—“

“Yeah, yeah, you are bro’. What’s up?”

This time the silence was tense. Something _was_ wrong. Sighing, Sam put a hand on Dean’s leather clad shoulder.

“Dean…you’ve been there for me and with me, for everything. Let me help you now, ok?”

Shifting, Dean looked up at his brother, green eyes considering.

“It’s Dad. He never liked…well, he called ‘em fairy-lands, poof-factories. Other shit like that.”

Looking weary, he went on. “A real man went to a barber, got his head shaved, high-and-tight, no fuckin’ fuss. I pissed him off enough on a daily basis, usually by existing. It was easier to just go to the barber once in a while and not have to hear him bitch.”

Sam’s hand had tightened as he spoke, eyes narrowed.

“He never said anything to me.” The words weren’t a question. Sam had been going to hair-stylists for years, trying to tame his mane professionally since at least high-school.

“Of course he fucking didn’t, you think I’d let him talk to you that way? Over hair?” Still lost in memory, he grinned, the smile bittersweet.

“Remember that time, god, I don’t remember how old you were, you were definitely shorter than me, but you were getting shaggy and Dad decided to take care of it while I was in detention? Dragged you right off to his barber.”

Sam grimaced. “He shaved my head. It was traumatizing!”

Dean was quiet, not laughing. “Yeah, actually, you were. Got teased at school something fierce, came home crying a couple of times until it grew out again. And then Dad wanted to take you back to the guy you were calling the Demon Barber of Fleet Street.”

Frowning now, Sam looked like he was starting to put together the pieces. “I never went back there,” he said slowly, “Never had my head shaved again.”

Something like pride flashed through Dean’s eyes. “Nope. Wasn’t going to let you be miserable again Sammy.”

“What happened?” The question was quiet.

Seeing his brother hesitating, Sam shook his head. “Tell me Dean. I’m an adult now and you need to talk about the shit that bastard put you through.”

“Nothing much to it this time. He screamed at me, shit about fags and fairies and being a man. His usual crap. Smacked me around a bit, for ‘defying’ him. Refused to pay for anything like haircuts, new clothes, for either of us.”

The pride in his eyes was stronger. “Fuckload of a difference that made. I was already paying for that stuff, had my part-time job…”

Sam hugged him hard. “Jesus Dean. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

_Smack_

Dean had gently slapped the back of his head, mussing his hair in a way that Sam only let two other people in his life.

“Wasn’t your fault Sam.” Seeing the guilty look in his brother’s eyes, he shook his head firmly. “No Sam. It’s on him. The way he treated _us_ was all on him. Him and his war and his goddamn problems with the bottle.”

“Dad was a miserable bastard. Who the fuck gets that pissed about fuckin’ hair? He had his issues—a lot of them had nothing to do with you or me. Though having a ‘fag’ for a son didn’t help.” It was Dean’s turn for the smack that was more of a brotherly caress.

“Dean, he had no right to rag on you the way he did, for _anything_ , especially liking guys. You’re the best brother, the best man I know.” Embracing him again, his next words were muffled in overlong strands of dark blonde.

“Love you man. And thanks.”

Dean chuffed, returning the fierce hug. “Shit, Sammy, you giant girl!” Likewise muffled, his “Love you too Sammy,” was nevertheless heard.

After a few emotional moments, they drew apart, surreptitiously wiping their eyes.

“All right, let’s go make my hair look like a fuckin’ unicorn’s mane. Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains lots of bad language, discussing John's emotional and physical abuse (nothing graphic), and is generally more angst than I expected. Sorry?
> 
> I can't help tagging this on: If you're being abused, or have been, in any way, YOU DON'T DESERVE IT. You just don't.   
> Please remember that, and think about talking to someone about it and getting out of that situation. You deserve to be safe and happy! 
> 
> US: http://www.thehotline.org  
> UK: http://www.nationaldomesticviolencehelpline.org.uk


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter of a drabble that grew out of control!  
> Thanks to everyone who read, dropped a kudos, or left me a comment! It's been fun :")

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I used a quote from an interview/panel Richard Speight Jr. (Gabriel) was on because it was perfect and I couldn’t resist. It’s starred with a " * "

Having exorcised a few of the demons haunting them, the Winchester brothers finally entered the shop. It was just past 12 and the place was relatively busy, two chairs occupied by women swathed in protective aprons.

Dean glanced over at one, doing a double-take when he realized her head was candy-apple red and long strands were dripping to the floor as a man with a vibrantly green mohawk and a lollipop in his mouth happily trimmed (hacked) away.

Before he could look at Sam in disbelief (he was putting his foot down at neon hair) he noticed a mousy woman carefully putting the finishing touches on an older woman’s traditional, normal looking bob.

His eyebrows high, he finally caught Sam’s eye. The giant of a man grinned, before saying, “Castiel’s caters to different tastes.”

Green-mohawk noticed their entrance, looking away from his most current masterpiece. He stilled.

“YOU! You genetic freak! I was polite with you being tall, I can deal with you being handsome, but perfect hair? Damn you to hell!”*

With that, he turned back to the wide-eyed woman, ran a brush authoritatively through the remaining red strands, whipped off the apron, and spun her around, before marching towards the shop’s tiny office in a huff, yelling, “Cas!”

Dean had bristled at the man’s tirade against his brother, but Sam’s hand on his shoulder stopped him from saying anything. 

“Hello to you too Gabriel. And no you still can’t dye my hair black. Or pink. Or touch it, really. Still mad?”

Whirling around, the man scowled at him, before his face transformed, catching sight of Dean and truly seeing him. Eyes gleaming, he looked at the shorter man’s hair like it was candy.

Before he could suggest anything, the more sedate stylist spoke up, her voice filled with an unexpectedly wry humor.

“Down Gabe. This one’s destined to have the mark of Castiel’s skilled hands.” Looking at the brothers, she smiled.

“Dean, right? Sam’s brother? I’m Anna.”

Dean smiled at her. “Nice to meet you.” She poked her head around her customer’s chair, brow furrowing.

“Cas? Your 12 o’clock’s here!”

Nothing. Sam frowned, making his way to the office himself.

“Cas?” Leaving Dean next to Anna, he disappeared into the miniscule office, barely fitting his overgrown self into its confines.

Dean shifted awkwardly. “Think he’s busy? I mean, we didn’t give him much notice, did we?”

Anna smiled kindly at him saying nothing, while Gabe, now ringing up the woman he had been working on, snorted.

“Trust me, he’s not busy. You’re his only appointment for the entire day.” Handing the lady her change and a lollipop, he offered her a fist bump, which she gleefully returned.

“The ladies won’t know what hit ‘em Charlie.”

Dashing grin on her face, she flipped the still-intact locks opposite the trimmed and buzzed half of her head. “Oh, I know. And trust me, it's not the hair. Thanks Gabe.”

She walked confidently out the door and Dean couldn’t help the random burst of affection he felt as she strode away. What the hell? He didn’t even know this chick. But damn, she had balls.

Sam suddenly reappeared, all but man-handling a slender, dark-haired guy about Dean’s height. His brother gently pushed the guy toward Dean, ignoring the mutters that suspiciously sounded like “Assbutt.”

Yeah, Dean concluded, this place was weird and his little brother was going a bit crazy.

Then he got a good look at the guy and decided the place could have fucking ghosts and his brother could be possessed by Satan himself.

This guy? Worth it.

Scruffy face, bags under soulful blue eyes, chocolate-colored hair trimmed perfectly—for some reason, Dean couldn’t look away.

He mentally groaned. This guy? This guy could get him to cheerfully sport blue dreadlocks. 

Awesome.

 

* * *

 

Shouting. Gabe again. Meaning Sam had arrived.

Cas still hadn’t decided what to do; running away was a tempting thought but it stunk of cowardice, and worse, betrayal of a friend. At the moment, retreat seemed the best option: he had been in his suffocatingly small office since 10 am.

“God willing,” he mumbled morosely, “I’ll asphyxiate myself.”

As if drawn to his despondent, self-pitying thoughts, Sam burst through his office door. Cas didn’t even bother pointing out the neat “Staff Only” sign. He was resigned now, eyeing the ‘secret’ hiding place of Gabe’s candies and considering their suitability as a last meal.

Sam didn’t even have to say anything. He just _looked_ at him and Cas got to his feet and to the door. Granted there he froze but then his friend nearly lifted him towards the main area of the shop.

“Assbut,” he muttered uncharitably. Then they were there, _he_ was there, and Cas looked up.

Oh Lord.

He was gorgeous. Like, actor, model, Grecian statue beautiful.

Slightly overlong sandy blonde hair that made him itch to pick up his scissors, clear green eyes, tanned skin stretching over muscles an MIT professor of engineering shouldn’t be allowed to have. And freckles.

Yep, that was a highly audible, extremely embarrassing, and completely involuntary whimper. _Freckles._

Cas silently waved Dean, _because this was definitely Dean, no introduction needed_ , into the chair and proceeded to give him the best haircut he had ever given _anyone_.

And when he was done, he brushed off the strong, warm shoulders, turned him around to face the mirror, met the reflection of the green eyes carefully watching him, and said, in all seriousness, the most embarrassing thing he had ever said in a long line of verbal cockups courtesy of his loose lips.

 

* * *

 

 

“I like cheeseburgers.”

Dean stared. Then stared some more.

He hadn’t been able to focus on anything the entire time Castiel’s hands had been on him. The man might have shaved him bald and he wouldn’t really know. But when he spoke, his voice gravelly, a-tonal, and without a hint of guile, he had Dean’s complete and utter attention.

“Cheeseburgers.”

“…Yes.”

Dean slowly smiled, a smile that hadn’t seen the light of day for at least a few decades. Standing up, he grabbed Cas’s hand and began pulling him to the door.

Cas resisted at first, caught in a wave of paralyzing humiliation. But then, smile still growing, Dean offered, voice as serious as Cas’s,

“I like pie.”

Stopping for a minute, unaware of the silent shop staring at them like a particularly riveting TV show (or maybe car crash), they looked at each other.

It was weird and it as awkward and it was perfect.

“I…know a place,” Cas half asked.

“I’ve got a car,” Dean answered.

Smiling now, Cas, relaxed. Without a word to anyone else, they were gone, half-way to the shiny black car parked in the lot over before anyone could say anything.

“Well,” Sam said, scratching his head, “that wasn’t as much of a trial as I thought it might be.”

 

* * *

 

 

A few cheeseburgers, three-quarters of a pie, and 3 hours of the best conversation either of them could remember, Dean and Cas found that the Impala was infinitely more suited to making out than any tree.

 

 The End


End file.
